to the warrior-like figures carved into all four
sides of these columns.”
Lori
straightened. “Warriors? Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl was a
priest of peace and knowledge. Until it was overthrown, Tula was a peaceful city.”
“Then
how do you explain the Atlanteans?” Chac challenged.
The
Atlanteans were four monolithic basalt columns shaped like giant warrior-like
sentries standing guard on the top platform of Tula’s Pyramid B. In fact, they themselves
were thought to have supported the roof of a wooden temple similar to the stone
temple still crowning the Castillo.
Admittedly,
Lori couldn’t explain why the tranquil Toltecs of Tula would carve such
fierce-looking sentries, but that wasn’t going to convince her of a link
between the Atlanteans and these columns of warriors. Chac must have read her
doubts for he spun around on his heel and started for the temple steps. Sensing
more to come, Lori held her tongue and climbed the steps behind him.
At
the top of the temple she noticed the statue of a man reclining along the
broad, platform floor. The figure appeared to be in mid crunch, his knees up,
head up, and he was holding a round disc on the flat of his stomach. The
statue’s head was turned, facing them with a cold, stoic expression that sent
chills down Lori’s spine. She’d known a similar statue in Tula—a statue that occasionally haunted her
dreams.
A chacmool.
Temple walls fanned out from
an opening behind the chacmool where more roofless columns rose like ghostly
spires. The two middle columns that framed the chacmool were elaborately
designed with gaping serpent heads at their bases. The columns themselves formed
the bodies of these serpents with a blocky, s-shaped bend in the tail near the
top, the rattles pointing straight toward the sky.
Chac
stepped around the chacmool, between the inverted serpent columns and continued
through the temple ruins until he reached the low back wall. There, a large,
bench-like platform spread across short stone supports that were perfectly
shaped like miniature Atlanteans.
“Okay,”
Lori relented. “You win. The Atlanteans are here too.” She shook her head. “But
the Atanteans can’t be warriors if Tula
was a city of peace and learning.”
“You
may be right,” Chac agreed. “These figures may not be warriors at all.”
Lori
was confused.
“I
believe the Atlanteans have been misinterpreted,” Chac explained, walking back
to the front of the temple. He didn’t stop until they were standing above the
temple steps once again, the chacmool glaring at their backs.
“Look
across there beyond the Castillo and tell me what you see.”
Lori
looked across the plaza sprawling below them. She noticed a group of tourists
parting around a stone altar with serpent heads topping its balustrades. That
too resembled the nearly destroyed altar centering the plaza in Tula. But
just beyond the altar stood a blunt tower with lower stone wing-walls spreading
out from it, much of it receding back into the trees.
It
took her a moment to recognize the peculiar shape of the containment wall. The
portion of the enclosed area she was looking at was shaped like one half of a
letter “I”. There’d only been one type of structure with that tell-tale I-shape
in Tula.
“The
ball court?” she asked.
“There
are ball courts in other Maya ruins,” Chac explained, “but only Tula has one as large as
this one.”
“Maybe
these were the Superbowl cities,” Lori joked.
Chac’s
expression was unmoved. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The ball game wasn’t
just a sport. It was a ritual with significant symbolism. In short, the purpose
of the game was to maintain the cycle of the sun. It was the players’ job on
both teams to pass the ball, or the sun, through night and day without letting
it fall to the earth. The ultimate object was to deliver the ball through a
ring mounted on the ball court wall. The team that failed to succeed lost the
game and were
sides of these columns.”
Lori
straightened. “Warriors? Topiltzin Quetzalcoatl was a
priest of peace and knowledge. Until it was overthrown, Tula was a peaceful city.”
“Then
how do you explain the Atlanteans?” Chac challenged.
The
Atlanteans were four monolithic basalt columns shaped like giant warrior-like
sentries standing guard on the top platform of Tula’s Pyramid B. In fact, they themselves
were thought to have supported the roof of a wooden temple similar to the stone
temple still crowning the Castillo.
Admittedly,
Lori couldn’t explain why the tranquil Toltecs of Tula would carve such
fierce-looking sentries, but that wasn’t going to convince her of a link
between the Atlanteans and these columns of warriors. Chac must have read her
doubts for he spun around on his heel and started for the temple steps. Sensing
more to come, Lori held her tongue and climbed the steps behind him.
At
the top of the temple she noticed the statue of a man reclining along the
broad, platform floor. The figure appeared to be in mid crunch, his knees up,
head up, and he was holding a round disc on the flat of his stomach. The
statue’s head was turned, facing them with a cold, stoic expression that sent
chills down Lori’s spine. She’d known a similar statue in Tula—a statue that occasionally haunted her
dreams.
A chacmool.
Temple walls fanned out from
an opening behind the chacmool where more roofless columns rose like ghostly
spires. The two middle columns that framed the chacmool were elaborately
designed with gaping serpent heads at their bases. The columns themselves formed
the bodies of these serpents with a blocky, s-shaped bend in the tail near the
top, the rattles pointing straight toward the sky.
Chac
stepped around the chacmool, between the inverted serpent columns and continued
through the temple ruins until he reached the low back wall. There, a large,
bench-like platform spread across short stone supports that were perfectly
shaped like miniature Atlanteans.
“Okay,”
Lori relented. “You win. The Atlanteans are here too.” She shook her head. “But
the Atanteans can’t be warriors if Tula
was a city of peace and learning.”
“You
may be right,” Chac agreed. “These figures may not be warriors at all.”
Lori
was confused.
“I
believe the Atlanteans have been misinterpreted,” Chac explained, walking back
to the front of the temple. He didn’t stop until they were standing above the
temple steps once again, the chacmool glaring at their backs.
“Look
across there beyond the Castillo and tell me what you see.”
Lori
looked across the plaza sprawling below them. She noticed a group of tourists
parting around a stone altar with serpent heads topping its balustrades. That
too resembled the nearly destroyed altar centering the plaza in Tula. But
just beyond the altar stood a blunt tower with lower stone wing-walls spreading
out from it, much of it receding back into the trees.
It
took her a moment to recognize the peculiar shape of the containment wall. The
portion of the enclosed area she was looking at was shaped like one half of a
letter “I”. There’d only been one type of structure with that tell-tale I-shape
in Tula.
“The
ball court?” she asked.
“There
are ball courts in other Maya ruins,” Chac explained, “but only Tula has one as large as
this one.”
“Maybe
these were the Superbowl cities,” Lori joked.
Chac’s
expression was unmoved. “You don’t understand,” he said. “The ball game wasn’t
just a sport. It was a ritual with significant symbolism. In short, the purpose
of the game was to maintain the cycle of the sun. It was the players’ job on
both teams to pass the ball, or the sun, through night and day without letting
it fall to the earth. The ultimate object was to deliver the ball through a
ring mounted on the ball court wall. The team that failed to succeed lost the
game and were
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